


Redemption

by Momma (alylynn122)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, So much angst, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:22:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alylynn122/pseuds/Momma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard, as it always seemed, was too late. Too late to wake up, and too late to save Garrus before the mercenary gangs get a hold of him. Broken, abused, tortured: There is nothing left for Archangel but a life filled with agony, even if he does get free.<br/>But there is one thing that neither Garrus nor the mercs took into consideration: Just how stubborn Commander Rebecca Shepard is. </p><p>Even on a suicide mission, Shepard won't stop until she saves humanity from the Collectors, and saves Garrus from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> I've read so many broken Garrus fics that don't have an ending, or don't have a moderately happy one, so I had to write one for our poor abused turian. I'm hoping to make this a walk-through piece, but I'm making it up as I go. Spoiler warnings for Mass Effect games, all three, and obviously trigger warnings for violence, rape, abuse, and torture.

“Please.” 

 

In the dark of his cell, the words he had been biting down for hours finally slipped out. The quiet, broken by a voice raspy from screaming, seemed to take on a different shape. Instantly, he regretted saying anything, of allowing his self-control to slip, even here alone in a cold, empty room. 

 

A new kind of chill crept up his naked body, and he curled in on himself as much as possible with his arms painfully anchored to the wall above his head. He could feel the keening wails in his throat, aching to be released. 

 

“Spirits, please, just make this stop.” 

 

The words seemed to slip out of their own accord. From now on, everything would be different. There was nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to fight for. No hope, no vigilante gang, no Shepard. 

 

That was the one, that despite two years, still tore at him the most. No Shepard. He had gone to Omega hoping for a death where he took as many mercs as possible with him. Instead, he had inspired others to follow him to a slow, painful death. 

 

And now, despite everything he had done, he was alive and a personal toy for the Blood Pack and Blue Suns leader. A life of constant agony, a life of humiliation, a life of nothing but wishing to die; all of which he just consented to. He couldn't fight his way out of this one. And now, he knew he wouldn't even try. 

 

Because for the first time in his life, Garrus Vakarian had begged. 


	2. Aria's Revenge

Omega believed Archangel was dead. His team had been publicly executed, the streams going up all over the station feeds. He had been forced to watch his team mates all get shot in the stomach, forced to sit there and listen to their cries. And once they were dead, Garm had forced the defiant turian to his knees, stripping him in front of a rabid crowd, and shoving the still smoking pistol into his mouth while forcing himself in from behind. The turian had screamed at that, trying desperately to shake the burning pistol from his mouth. When Garm had finally finished, Tarak took his turn, and then they beat the vigilante to the point that one of his spurs had broken, hanging limply behind his leg as he tried desperately to crawl away. Humiliated, publicly beaten within an inch of his life, and never seen again, many thought the turian had then been killed in private. 

But Aria T’lok knew better. And even worse for the merc gangs that had stolen her spotlight from her, she knew who else wanted Archangel alive. 

At first, she had been surprised to see the deceased Commander Shepard storming into Afterlife like she owned the place, a roadmap of scars glowing in the darkened entranceway. 

It was like her own personal angel of Karma, waltzing right into her life. And just as Aria had known she would, Shepard took the coordinates for Garm’s hideout with a barely concealed smirk. 

Shepard, a ticking timebomb, freshly out of the grave and looking for someone to take out two years of lost life on. 

Yes, Garm would do perfectly. And it only sweetened the deal that in doing so, she would rescue one of the hand-chosen members for her team. 

Aria had considered telling Shepard that Archangel was none other than the Garrus Vakarian, while she had her eating out of her hand. But something stopped her, whether it was a conscience she didn't know she had or a little devil on her shoulder, Aria held her tongue with the knowledge that some things needed to be discovered on their own. 

Instead, as the commander left to prepare for her fight, Aria had grabbed her arm with a gentleness that surprised even her and said, “Shepard, before you go, just remember that Archangel has been through a lot. He might not be what you're expecting.”


	3. Old Friends

Shepard had never felt so alive. Her scars burned, her biotic amp pulsed behind her ear, her weary arms still held her shotgun out before her, and at her feet lay the body of the Blood Pack leader, none other than Garm himself. The Krogan had put up a legendary struggle. Centuries old, with staggering regenerative abilities and a penchant for cracking heads; the battle had been brutal. And it was exactly what Shepard needed.   
And all it had cost her was a little phrase, which she had whispered in Garm’s ear as she watched the life seep from his eyes. 

“Aria T’lok sends her regards.” 

The look on the Krogan’s face had been well worth the flare of humiliation Shepard had felt by playing nothing other than an over glorified messenger. 

But now for the real prize. Silently, Shepard steeled herself for what she might find inside the tiny cell behind Garm’s room. In reality, the door looked like nothing more than a closet. But as she approached, Shepard could smell the stench of semen, blood, bodily waste, and body odor. Definitely not a closet. 

The door opened to reveal freezing cold air wafting out with even worse smells, and for once Shepard was grateful she had worn her helmet. 

Feeling along the wall for some sort of light switch, Shepard found a temperature control switch as well. A lot of effort had gone into this prison. It must have been built specifically for Archangel, she thought. 

But as the lights flickered on, nothing could have prepared her for the sight in front of her. A turian cowered against the wall, surrounded by a mess of blood and bodily waste. Nothing about this turian screamed fearless vigilante. He hid his head in the crook of his arms as he trembled, soft whimpers escaping his throat. Seeing this, Shepard was glad she had opted to come alone and try to truly push her new body to the limits. Because she wished even she didn't have to see this, undoubtedly the lowest point in Archangel’s life. 

“Archangel?” she asked, her voice coming out louder than she had intended. The turian flinched, but otherwise didn't respond. With a sigh, Shepard knelt to the ground beside him, shuddering slightly when she felt her armored knee make contact with a puddle of fluid. 

“Hey, I'm here to help,” she said in a much kinder voice, laying her hand gently on the turian’s shoulder. He froze, but didn't pull away. 

“My name is Shepard, Commander Shepard. I'm with…” She had been about to say she was with the Alliance, but that wasn't true anymore. With a sigh, Shepard finished by saying, “I need your help.” 

“Sh….Shepard?” came the muffled response. It sounded like a child speaking while holding their tongue. 

“Yeah, that's right, Shepard. I'm a spectre,” she affirmed with a hint of a smile, glad she could still say that at least. 

“Shepard is dead,” the turian said as he turned his head to her. Shepard gasped when she noticed that his mouth plates had been stitched together, some of the stitches having torn through the thin hide that covered the plates. But what was even more striking were the pale blue-gray eyes she hard been searching for since she first woke up, underlined by the cobalt colony markings on skin more aged and paler than she remembered. But she remembered it nonetheless. 

“...Garrus.”


	4. A Rescue Attempt

The word come out in a huff of air, and Shepard felt goosebumps prickle her skin. 

“Hold on, I'll get that off of you,” she ordered while pulling her knife out of its sheath in her omnitool. 

But Garrus’ face showed no signs of recognition, instead, he paled and threw himself back violently with a cry when he saw the knife approaching his face. 

“It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you,” Shepard reassured gently, putting her arm on his shoulder again to steady him. The turian whimpered, a string of “Please” and “Don't” coming out of his fused plates like a demented prayer. 

“Hold still.” The order had more force than she intended it to, but the quivering turian obeyed as she took her hand off of his shoulder to gently pull the metal thread away from his mouth far enough to get the knife under it. Once she had most of the threads cut, Shepard gingerly pulled the knots out of his skin, hating the way the turian had clenched his eyes shut and leaned his head away from her to bare his neck. A gesture of submission, but also a cry for mercy in the turian culture. 

The turian- Garrus, she reminded herself, he has a name- opened his eyes slightly when she pulled the last stitch out, using her fingers to gently pull the stiff plates away from each other until he took the hint and worked his jaw a few times himself, opening and closing it with a wince. 

“There, is that better, Garrus?” He simply looked at her from between his arms, which were still anchored high up on the wall. 

“Hold on, let me see if I can pick that lock,” Shepard said, grabbing her knife from where it had fallen on the filthy floor. 

Garrus uttered a series of whirs and clicks that her translator didn't pick up, but sounded pleading, or self-comfort. As the lock finally sprang free, his arms fell limply at his sides, and he involuntary wrapped them around himself, curling into an even tighter ball. 

“Garrus, please, we have to get out of here,” Shepard sighed, kneeling next to him once more. 

This was not the wise-cracking, frustrated C-sec officer she had come to know on their search for Saren. This turian was a broken, trembling, psychological mess that wore Garrus’ face. Shepard could feel the tears pricking the back of her eyes, but she willed them away for Garrus’ sake. 

“How do you know my name?” 

The question surprised Shepard nearly as much as it frustrated her. She took a deep breath, forcing her voice to a calm, gentle tone. 

“It's Shepard, Garrus. I'm your friend, remember?” 

“Shepard is dead,” he repeated dumbly, grinding on the last ounces of patience Shepard had for this place. 

“Not anymore, I got better. Please, Garrus, just trust me. I'll explain everything when we get back to the Normandy,” she begged. The ship name got him to finally look directly at her, at least. A slight nod was his only indication that he was coherent enough to understand what he needed to do. 

“Can you stand on your own?” Shepard asked, looking at his leg and noticing the broken spur dangling by a thread of flesh. Sure enough, the turian shook his head. Without making any sound of protest, Garrus allowed himself to be hauled up by his shoulders and stiffened, but didn't pull away when Shepard pulled his arm around her shoulders to help support his weight. He was much, much lighter and thinner than she remembered. 

They made their way slowly, Garrus grunting softly with each step. He had frozen when they passed the body of Garm, until Shepard took her gun and fired a shot into the krogan’s head just to show he was truly dead. Garrus had flinched at the shot, but walked a little faster once they passed the body. He didn't pay anymore attention to the other bodies that littered the place, for which Shepard was grateful. She didn't feel like explaining how much pleasure she got out of “bowling” with her new biotic powers, or the satisfaction of watching her enemies’ brains splatter on the wall behind them. 

It was late by the time they reached the Normandy, thankfully. Shepard had known the station well enough to navigate through back alleys and halls to avoid being seen, and now, since they were in dock, only a skeleton crew would be on board, none of whom were usually needed in the CIC. 

Garrus didn't even flutter an eyelid at the rebuilt Normandy, which worried Shepard. He seemed to be fading, and that only confirmed her fears. Her ship had a fully stocked medbay, at least, and Dr Chakwas, the best doctor Shepard had ever known. 

As if on cue, the doctor was sitting in the mess hall when Shepard dragged Garrus off the elevator. He didn't seem able to move his feet anymore, and she gratefully gave over half of his weight to Karin when she took Garrus’ other arm. 

The doctor said nothing as she set to work, allowing Shepard to do as she always did for her injured crew members, sit at their side and keep them distracted. Except Garrus had fallen unconscious at some point, so all Shepard could do instead was hold his freezing hand in hers, rubbing small, reassuring circles on Garrus’ arm with her thumb. 

It was a long night for Shepard and Chakwas as they turned Garrus this way and that to clean, stitch, bandage, and take note of all his injuries. Burns, lacerations from talons around his hips, bites on his neck and shoulder that looked suspiciously turian, rips and tears around his backside, teeth punctures on his pelvic plates (and on his member, apparently, which Karin had gently pried from under the plates while Shepard turned her back). 

In the end, there was more bandage than turian. But his broken spur had been set and casted, his arms restrained by padded cuffs attached to the bed to keep him from thrashing and pulling out his IV and saline drip. Once he had been cleaned, bandaged, and wrapped in blankets, he looked much more like an actual living being than the wraith Shepard had walked in with. 

Karin yawned loudly, watching the ship’s crew slink in from their shore leave, sipping coffee and conversing around the mess hall table. She caught Shepard’s eye as the commander sat in the chair next to Garrus’ bed and reclaimed his hand. 

“Well, if you're going to keep an eye on our patient, here, I am going to try and get some sleep before people come to me for their hangovers. I'll blank the windows and lock the door on my way out. If you need anything, get EDI to page me,” Chakwas said as she walked over to the windows and set them to an opaque white, sealing out the curious eyes from the mess hall. 

“Thanks doc, I’m sure he will feel much better when he wakes up,” Shepard smiled. 

“I don't know, Commander. He will be even worse than you were after Mindoir. I think he is going to need a lot more care than simple first aid,” the doctor said sadly, watching as Shepard’s eyes flashed over with grief at the mention of her home world.

“I'll do everything I can to help him through it,” she promised, looking more at Garrus than the doctor. As she squeezed her friend’s hand to her forehead, she heard the doctor say, “I'm sure there is no one better for the job.”


	5. A Simple Request

When Garrus awoke, there was nothing slow about it. One minute he was breathing steadily and sleeping peacefully. The next, he was bolting upright and trying to reach the restraints with his teeth to tear them off. He almost bit Shepard, even, when she placed a hand on his bandaged chest to calm him.

“Shepard?” he asked incredulously, disbelief stilling him momentarily.

“In the flesh,” Shepard smiled tiredly, sinking back into her chair at his side, but still keeping a hand on his upper arm. He looked at it strangely.

“You're dead.” The words, no matter how often she heard them, always made Shepard flinch. Which in turn made Garrus flinch.

“Yeah, yeah I was. Cerberus rebuilt me,” she explained, keeping her voice even and light.

Garrus seemed to have nothing to say to that, instead throwing his head back onto his pillow, his body still trembling with fear.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I can get you another pillow, if you like, or some water if you think you can sit up. No food yet, but you can have some broth or something if you need it. We need to reintroduce food to your body slowly, so it's supposed to only be water to start, but I know what it's like to be so hungry you want to eat your own arm,” Shepard chattered, filling the silence with her words.

“Shepard, I need you to do something for me,” Garrus said finally, looking at her directly in the eye.

“Anything,” she smiled, happy with his fast progress. But her smile faded into horror as he stared at her, his subharmonics keening as he asked for the only thing he truly wanted.

 

“Kill me.”


	6. Losing It

“ **_What?!_ ** ” Shepard demanded, her voice much harsher than she had meant it to be. 

Garrus flinched away from her and trembled on the other side of the bed, as far from her rage as he could get while still strapped down. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he murmured as he bared his neck to her, just like he had in the cell. The sight sucked all of the rage right out of Shepard’s mind. Guilt consumed her instead, and she tried to revisit the worst time in her life, when she had finally been freed from the batarians that had kidnapped her with others from her colony. She remembered how much she too, had wanted to die. And instantly, all she felt for Garrus was guilt for making him afraid for feeling the same thing. 

“Garrus, Garrus, hey, look at me,” she pleaded softly, gently cupping his chin in her hand and pulling him back towards her. He followed compliantly, still shaking. 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” He still wouldn't look at her, instead he went back to tugging on his restraints and trying to bare his neck at the same time. 

“Don't do that, Garrus, please. I would never hurt you, you know that, don't you? Please Garrus, I'm so sorry.” 

“You should,” he replied sullenly, so quietly that Shepard would be surprised if even EDI heard it. 

“Garrus, why would you say that?” she asked as kindly as she could. 

“Because I deserve it,” came the simple reply, coupled with a loose shrug and shuddering exhale. 

“Why do you think that?” Shepard prodded, but he didn't reply,. Instead, he leaned his head back on the pillow, feeling his fringe scrape the wall behind the bed, and closed his eyes, trying to remember if he liked the quiet hum of engines beneath him. 

Garrus didn't know what was going on anymore, this could very well have been a hallucination, but he didn't know why he would imagine a new Normandy instead of the old one that carried all of his best memories. 

He was grateful for Shepard, whatever she was, being here. He didn't care if she was a ghost, demon, clone, robot, or even a figment of his imagination. Her presence filled a hole in him he had been carrying for two years. 

Even through the fuzziness of the pain medication, he could feel how much everything hurt. Turian males weren't made for penetration, and weeks of it had left his backside burning. No matter how many times he had been violated, it still always hurt just as much as the first one. His plates never gave any more leeway, just cracked further the more they were abused. 

Shame burned hot in his gut. He didn't deserve the comfort of having Shepard sitting next to him, holding his hand in hers. He had failed his team, failed her and failed to uphold her memory. He had been reduced to a begging, trembling pile of varren shit by only a few days' worth of torture, and that had only made everything worse. Now, he was nothing but a toy. There was nothing left for him. His father wouldn't speak to him when he discovered what he had done, and allowed to be done to him. There was nothing for him on  Omega anymore, or even the Citadel. And if this was really Shepard, chances were she was the only person in the entire galaxy who actually have a damn about him. 

Groaning, he tried to sit up, only to realize his wrists were still restrained, pulling on his shoulders painfully. Panic seized him then, tossing him right back into the cell as Garm shoved him up against the wall, shoving a thick finger painfully into his rectum. 

“Stop, please,” he heard himself saying, the weakness in his voice making his face burn. 

“Stop what?” Garm laughed, taking his finger out and forcing it into Garrus’ mouth. 

“Please, I can't take it. Not again, please,” he begged, a low keen starting in his throat. 

Garm just laughed, but something was whispering in Garrus’ ear. 

“Garrus, take a deep breath.” 

_ Shepard? _

_ “ _ I'm right here, just breathe. You're safe. No one else is here but you and me.” 

Somewhere, in the distance, he could still feel Garm forcing himself into his body, and a guttural yelp accompanying each buck of those large hips. But instead of focusing on that, he followed Shepard’s voice, blinking slowly as the bright lights of the medbay flowed back into existence. A five fingered hand stroked his unbandaged mandible, trying to turn his face towards the woman speaking. 

“Good, deep, even breaths. You're right here, with me. Can you tell me what's wrong?” Shepard's voice soothed.

“The restraints,” Garrus gasped, pain lacing his words. The hand left his face. He felt gentle pressure on his wrist, and then heard the restraint hitting the bed. She quickly moved to the other side and freed that arm as well, gently massaging his clenched fists into relaxing. 

“Where did you go?” Her voice is loud, but gentle, blotting out the sounds of Garm’s grunts and his own whimpers. 

“Shepard, I can't. Please, I just can't,” he sighed, pulling himself up gingerly, trying not to flinch when he felt Shepard’s hands on his back, helping him. 

“Garrus, breathe. You don't have to talk about anything. But I want you to know that you can. You aren't alone in this.” Garrus fastened onto her voice, but he could still hear Garm, and behind him, Tarak. 

“Push back. Fuck me,” Garm growled in his ear. 

“Please, I just want it to stop,” Garrus begged, not sure who he was talking to. 

Shepard pulled the turian’s hand into her own, squeezing with a fair amount of pressure, pulling him to her so she could wrap her other arm around his shoulder. His entire body shook with, with either fear or pain, Shepard wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if he would never be able to stop trembling.    


Garrus hadn’t been held since he was little, sitting in his mother’s lap as she read him a story or sang him a song. Gentle touch hadn’t really been a part of his life since then. Even lovemaking had a sort of competitive edge to it in the turian military, and he’d sure as hell not had any affection from the strippers on Omega.    


But for some reason, he knew just what to do when he felt arms around him. Despite his fear and the voices murmuring in his ear from his memories, he turned in one swift motion and buried his face in Shepard’s shoulder, allowing her arms to wrap around him.  He breathed in her scent as his arms circled around her thick torso, something he had wanted to do since he first noticed he was developing feelings for her on the original Normandy. But that honor had gone to Kaidan, and part of Garrus confirmed that Shepard would never like aliens.    


Now, Garrus knew there was no chance whatsoever that he would have a shot with Shepard. A broken, abused turian with no future and nowhere else to go, she would probably dump him in a mental hospital once she figured out he wouldn’t be fixed.    


All of these thoughts were cleared from Garrus’ head though when her hand began soothingly stroking his fringe, her other arm pulling him closer to her. He could feel her quick heartbeat through the fabric of his bandages, her body pressed gently against his own. She was cooler than he was, but it was almost comforting. Her feel was so much different than that of Tarak’s or Garm’s or any of the other mercs that had come to get a piece of Archangel. And her hands stayed put on his fringe and on his back, not moving slowly downwards or seeking a way to cause him pain.    


“Shepard?” he asked, pulling away slightly so his voice could be heard.    


“Yes, Garrus?”    


“Does it ever get better?”    


Shepard didn’t need any clarification on that. She too, had her demons, some of which Garrus knew about. Others that no one knew about, besides those who were able to pull the records from before her service history.    


“Yes. In time, the memories fade, and don’t come back as often. In time, you find something to keep you going,” she replied finally, pulling back enough to look Garrus in the eye. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.    


“I don’t think I can do this,” he gulped, voice breaking. Shepard sighed, pulling him against her once more, resting her chin on his fringe.    


“I’m sorry, Garrus, but you don’t have a choice."


	7. A Different Approach

Hours later, after Shepard had been pulled away to some mission, Garrus had still yet to say anything to Dr. Chakwas, who had come in a few minutes after Shepard’s departure. He caught her glancing at him every so often, but she would quickly turn back to something on her personal terminal, pretending not to notice him. Garrus was grateful for her tact, but it did nothing to help keep the memories at bay. He’d been fighting a bad one for the better part of the last hour, trying to keep the screams of his fallen teammates from his mind.    


But now, he couldn’t stop the medbay walls from fading silently away as he was once more surrounded by darkness, arms cuffed behind his back as he struggled against them, the hard metal biting into his flesh. 

Karin noticed that Garrus’ eyes had stopped roaming the room, and he had instead focused on the wall directly in front of him. Well familiar with PTSD symptoms, she quickly rose from her chair to step into Garrus’ line of vision, but the turian paid her no attention.    


“Garrus,” she called loudly, stepping closer to his bed to reach out and grab his arm. But the turian was faster, reaching out to swipe at her with his talons. Falling back, she stood at his feet, just out of reach.     


“Garrus, you’re on the Normandy. You need to wake up,” the doctor ordered, her tone level but firm. There was no response from her patient, who was now fighting some invisible foe, it seemed. PTSD in military situations was usually helped by hearing a commanding voice. Karin hadn't dealt with PTSD from abuse in years, if not decades. For a moment, she considered trying to get closer to Garrus to hold his hand, as the commander always did, but another slash of his talons  through the air confirmed how bad of an idea that was. 

"I know you're scared, Garrus, but I can't help you if you don't let me get close enough. Please, try to focus, you're safe. It's just a memory," she tried, her voice dry where she meant it to be soothing. There was no response from the turian, but now, he seemed to be trying to get off the bed. Even through his erratic movements, Chakwas could see the pain it was causing him. 

“I’m sorry, Vakarian, but I can’t let you tear your stitches out by moving too much,” Karin mumbled as she took a sedative from a drawer on the bedside table. She had stashed it there for just this purpose. But somehow, the needle had worked its way into Garrus’ flashback. 

"Get back," he growled loosely, each word accompanied by a click of his sharp teeth.   
  
"Garrus, it's me, Dr. Chakwas. I am going to give you something to help you calm down, alright?" the doctor tried again, holding up her hands placatingly.   
  
" _No_ ," the turian howled, tugging his foot out from under the blanket in an attempt to kick the syringe from her hands.   
  
"EDI, please ping Lawson and ask for her assistance in the medbay immediately," Karin ordered, a tone of defeat lacing her words. Within moments, Chawkwas heard the doors hiss behind her and booted feet click on the tiles. 

The Cerberus operative said nothing on the state of the turian, and asked no questions about why he was on the Normandy to start with. Karin made a mental note to check the medbay for bugs again once this was over.    


"Please, help me hold him so I can get the sedative into his system. He is in a flashback," Chakwas said, not bothering to turn around, keeping her eyes trained on Garrus. 

To his credit, the turian put up a hell of a fight. Lawson had to force him down with a biotic field before she was able to strap the restraints around his wrists. Once his arms were anchored down, the operative had moved to his legs, just to be safe. Sure enough, one of the talons on his feet barely missed contact with her cheek as the turian flailed, pleading incoherently the whole time. Finally, Karin was able to inject the sedative into his IV port, and his thrashing quickly quieted as his eyes slid closed.    


The last thing Garrus heard before drifting away was a cold, accented voice saying, “We need to talk to Shepard about finding an appropriate place for her… friend. We don’t have the resources to deal with this sort of distraction for her.” 


	8. Chapter 8

“You what?!” Shepard demanded, striding over to Garrus in two steps, already reaching out to undo his leg restraints. Karin made no move to stop her. Garrus had been asleep for hours, and besides for a few nightmares, seemed to be resting peacefully.    


“Commander, he was out of control. He was going to hurt himself or one of us, we had no choice,” the doctor argued, pressing her fingertips to her temples in an attempt to pacify her raging headache for a minute. The Commander made short work of his ankle restraints, and even took a moment to tuck the blanket back over Garrus' feet before moving up to his wrists.   


“I understand that, Doctor, but that was probably the worst thing you could have done. Didn’t you see the injection marks on his arms already? They drugged him too. He is going to be terrified when he wakes up!” Shepard huffed, leaning over the sleeping turian to release his other wrist.   


“I don’t tell you how to do your job, Commander, so please do not presume to tell me how to do mine. I made the best decision I could for him given the circumstances. I’m not a psychologist,” came Karin’s idnignant reply. Instead of retaliating, Shepard gave a defeated sigh.    


“I know, Doc, I’m sorry. I just remember how terrified I was when I tried to learn how to navigate my flashbacks, and the hospital staff reacting the way you did today only made it worse.” The doctor watched as Shepard's shoulders sagged, trying to recall when she had started speaking openly about her own PTSD. For a moment, Karin almost warned her not to talk about it, for fear of Cerberus learning of it. But a voice in her head reminded her that it was well documented in Shepard's service record, and Cerberus had already gotten their hands on that. 

“Commander, I know you don’t want to hear this. But do you really think the Normandy is the best place for Garrus? He should be somewhere where people know how to help him,” Karin offered gently, watching Shepard cautiously, waiting for the outburst of anger at the suggestion. To her surprise, the Commander simply nodded as she pulled the blanket up over Garrus' cowl.   


“I’ve considered other options, but I couldn’t just leave him in a hospital somewhere with people who don’t even know him. He wouldn’t have done that to me. And if I’m not letting him take the easy way out, the least I could do is let him stay,” she explained, eyes not leaving Garrus’ sleeping face, gaze so soft that Karin noticed for the first time how young Shepard looked.   


“I’m not saying that I don’t think you could do anything you set your mind to, Shepard. You know how highly I think of you and your abilities. But not everyone can be saved.” 

“Thank you for the advice, Doctor, but until Garrus asks me to take him somewhere else, I’m going to let him stay here. He just needs rest and time. I know Garrus, and he isn’t weak. They broke him, but in time, he’ll be able to pick up the pieces.” Karin breathed deeply before stepping forward, placing her hand on Shepard's shoulder in a rare display of affection. The Commander turned to look at her, and Chakwas could clearly see the demons in her own eyes. 

“Shepard, being able to come back from something like this isn’t always as easy as it was for you. He might never get back to being the Garrus we all knew and loved.” With a nod, the doctor let her hand fall, stepping back to push a chair up next to the bed for the Commander.    


“I know, but still, I have to at least try. It’s Garrus. If anyone can get through this, he can,” Shepard replied, not relenting, adding in a soft enough voice for the doctor not to hear,” He has to.” 


	9. Decisions

When Garrus awoke, the medbay was empty. Panic seized him for a moment until he saw the flame of Shepard’s hair through the windows, which had been opened at some point. She was in a heated argument with the pale, dark-haired woman. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but by the violent way Shepard was slashing her hand in the air, he could tell it wasn't a friendly discussion. 

Finally, the other woman turned away with a huff, and Shepard pressed her fingers to her temples. Arguing always gave her a headache, Garrus remembered. 

He watched her as she stalked to the elevator, not pausing to look in his direction. Garrus tried to remember what she had said her mission was now, but couldn't recall any of the details. 

A few moments after the Commander had stalked off, the dark haired woman stuck her head out of her office, surveying the empty mess hall like it was a minefield. Once satisfied, she stepped out of the doorway and strode confidently towards the medbay. 

Garrus gulped, trying to quell the fear churning in his heart. He was on Shepard’s ship, she wouldn't let someone who would hurt him walk around freely. That is what the rational part of his brain told him, the irrational part cowered at the oncoming threat as the doors slid open.

If anything, with a perfectly shaped eyebrow arched above her delicate face, the woman could be described as smug. Beautiful, and fully aware of it. 

“Vakarian, we need to talk,” she said once she had reached the side of his bed. Garrus felt exposed. He had clothing on, someone had dressed him while he slept, it seemed, and was covered in blankets and bandages. Despite all of this, the woman's gaze appraised him as if he was a piece of meat, and he couldn't stop himself from trembling slightly as she leaned over the back of the chair beside his bed. 

“Has Shepard told you anything about our mission?” 

“No, ma’am,” he answered automatically, not completely able to keep his voice from quaking. 

“It's dangerous. The Collectors have been attacking human colonies, taking humans by the thousands without a trace. Our goal is to find their home, and destroy them. It's being called a suicide mission by most of the crew, and rightly so. Now, where on this mission do you see a quivering turian that needs to be sedated because he has panic attacks fitting in?” 

The woman’s voice wasn't cruel, just explaining. Still, Garrus couldn't help but feel stung by the question. 

He was Garrus Vakarian, the one who has watched Shepard’s six the entire hunt for Saren, had been at her side through every battle, watched her double her amount of scars through the scope of his rifle. He was Archangel, the turian who had single-handedly sent the mercs on Omega running. The turian  who had inspired others to hope, to hop on his bandwagon as he stepped up to try and fill Shepard’s place in the galaxy. 

The turian who had ruined everything for those people. The turian who cowered when Shepard spoke too sharply. The turian currently wasting her precious time and resources by sitting in her medbay. 

“I don't,” he replied sullenly. To his surprise, the woman didn't smile, just nodded silently. He heard something clink on the metal table beside him, and was almost able to keep himself from flinching. 

“I'm glad we agree. I know what you asked Shepard to do for you, so here is a chance to do it for yourself. Either that, or you use it to help Shepard. But don't just sit here and waste our time, Vakarian, because no one aboard this ship has any to spare.”

With that, the woman turned and left without even bothering to warn him against telling Shepard what she had done. Either she didn't care, or she didn't expect it to matter by the time Shepard got back. Because sitting on his bedside table, gleaming in the bright lights, was a Carnifax Hand Cannon, guaranteed to make even a turian’s head splatter against the wall instantaneously. 

For the first time in days, Garrus’ talons didn't tremble as he reached out to pick up the gun, the sleek, dully glinting metal finish was cool to the touch, and the weight of the gun told him it was loaded. 

His talon looped around the trigger like an old friend, hugging the heavy barrel tightly as he brought the gun to rest beneath his bandaged chin. One tiny squeeze of his talon, and it would all be over. No more nightmares, no more flashbacks, no more people giving him pitying looks and crew members whispering in the mess hall while looking back at him. 

But also no more talks with Shepard, no more sleeping while she sat beside him, feeling her take his hand when she saw his fear resurface. No chance to make it up to her for not being there to help when she died, for listening helplessly on the com while she gasped her last painful breaths. 

But what use would he be to her, if she needed the best? He certainly wasn't among those anymore, if he ever was. She should dump him at the nearest turian mental hospital and then go find another sniper. 

Garrus shuddered at the thought of being left behind while Shepard went off to save the Galaxy, again. But he wasn't really galaxy-saving material anymore. He could barely take on a few merc bands, let alone the Collectors.

And the pressure underneath his chin felt so nice. Death was so close for him, he just had to...

With a groan, Garrus tossed the gun back onto the bedside table. He wanted death, wanted that sweet respite and to be able to have people remember the old Garrus, the turian who helped stop Saren. He didn't want to have to go on like this, but he couldn't do it to Shepard. She blamed every death on herself, and he didn't want his hanging over her head when she was busy trying to deal with Cerberus. No, for Shepard, Garrus could hold on just a bit longer, just until after her mission. 

He owed her that much. 

 


	10. New Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for how long I have gone without updating this. Hopefully this update will let you know this fic isn't dead, and I am still working away at it.

Garrus wasn't aware he had fallen asleep until he was dragged out of it by a yelp and a string of curses. 

“Damn it, Doc, why do you have to dig around more? You got it all!” That voice Garrus would know anywhere, the sound of an irate Shepard trying to convince someone to let her treat her injuries with a bottle of ryncol, instead of having to go to the medbay. 

“Honestly, Commander. I never expected the Savior of the Citadel to whine so much about a simple procedure!” Chakwas scolded lightly. Shepard huffed, mumbling something about the Savior of the Citadel being told to seek medical attention for a little wound. Garrus could feel his good mandible pulling out into a smirk. Some things never changed. 

“Commander, it's not a ‘tiny nick’, it's a shotgun round that pierced your armor and lodged itself in your shoulder. You're lucky you aren't dead. Now hold still, I'd be done much faster if you stopped squirming.” 

“But it hurts!” Shepard pouted. 

“Then don't refuse the local anesthetic next time!” Chakwas’ voice was exasperated.

“Doc, if you ever get near me with a needle, it'll be because I'm dead or damn near close to it,” Shepard retorted, a defeated grumble coming out of her. 

“You're impossible!” Karin groaned. 

“Good, then go play doctor with Garrus, he's awake!” Garrus couldn't hold in his rumble of laughter, admitting defeat and opening his eyes to watch the scene playing out. 

“Garrus doesn't have bullet shrapnel trying to make its way into his lungs,” the doctor replied from behind Shepard, who was shirtless, a blanket wrapped around her chest as she sat hunched over on one of the beds across from Garrus’. 

“How do you know? Maybe you should scan him just to be sure!” Shepard said, shooting a wink in his direction. 

“I already did scan him, and he has no such thing.” Chakwas tone was dry, but Garrus could see the twinkle in her eye, and the small smirk as she freed another twisted piece of metal from Shepard’s skin. The commander hissed as it slid out, tensing her muscles in pain, a theatrical groan escaping her. 

“And he was much quieter about his treatment, if I recall,” the doctor added as she flushed the wound with rubbing alcohol. 

“Not fair, he was unconscious!” 

“And if you don't stop your fidgeting and let me work before your cybernetics close over the wounds again, you will be too!” 

Shepard finally slumped back down, admitting defeat with her silence. The doctor finished quietly, while Shepard grit her teeth and clenched the table sides until her fingers turned white. The shrapnel was deep, apparently. 

While Shepard’s eyes were closed, Garrus took the opportunity to study her face more. She didn't look all that different, the team that brought her back must have tried to match her looks exactly. Thin, glowing cracks lined her flesh, making it almost look like she had plates. 

But her unruly eyebrows were the same, even if the scar above her left eye was gone. She still had a bump on her nose from where Alenko had broken it in a sparring match, making it curve slightly to the right. Her eyes were still the same shade of green, despite the red that circled her irises now. 

It was then that Garrus realized she had opened her eyes, and had been watching him with a soft smile while he stared. 

“See anything out of place, Vakarian?” Her tone was teasing, but he could hear the slight worry behind it. Was she worried he wouldn't approve of her reconstructed features? Or was she worried she had missed something in her own examination. 

“I don't know, have you always had that third eye?” 

She stuck her tongue out at him.  _ The _ Commander Shepard had actually stuck her tongue out at someone. Garrus knew from his days on the SR1 that this was a human reaction which was viewed as childish. And she looked so ridiculous doing it, he now understood why. 

“There, done, Commander. Now was that so bad?” Chakwas voice interrupted Garrus’ thoughts, and he hated the way he jumped when she spoke. 

“Excruciating,” Shepard responded dryly, earning her a hopeless shake of the head from the doctor. 

“That was nothing compared to this,” Chakwas said, handing Shepard a bottle of pills. 

“What's this?”

“Sedatives. You haven't been sleeping, Commander, and it's probably why you managed to get shot today.” All humor was gone from the doctor’s voice, replaced with a small amount of concern. 

“I've been sleeping fine, doc. There must be something wrong with your scanners,” Shepard argued, trying to hand the pills back to Chakwas. 

“My scans didn't tell me that, EDI did. And your options are to either take those pills and stay in bed for the next two days while your body heals, or sleep down here.” 

“I don't have time for sleep,” Shepard snapped, her humor finally cracking. She shot Garrus an apologetic glance when he tensed up at her tone. 

“I'm not discussing this with you, Shepard. You need to rest. I don't care if I have to put you under myself, the crew needs you at your best.” 

Garrus watched the exchange passively, trying not to make assumptions. EDI, he remembered, was the ship’s AI. Which meant that it watched Shepard even in her cabin. Had it been watching him, too? And if so, who had it been sending the footage to? 

A shudder crept up on him as he thought of Tarak seeking him out, hacking into Cerberus footage and watching his every move. 

It was irrational, but not impossible. 

“Garrus, you alright?” Shepard said as she donned her shirt, back facing him, allowing Garrus to catch a glimpse of heavily bruised flesh before the fabric fell across it. 

“Garrus?” she asked again as she turned around, stepping across the room to come stand by his side. It took him a minute to notice Chakwas wasn't there. 

“I will be,” he finally managed, earning a frown from her. The sight disturbed him, even as he tried to tell himself that Shepard wasn't going to hit him for giving the wrong answer. Still, he couldn't help but cringe when she brought a hand up towards his face, even though she did it slowly. 

“What's wrong?” Her concern for him was evident in her every feature, even though she let her hand drop. Briefly, he wondered if she didn't really want to touch him, but quickly shook that thought from his head when she took his hand instead. 

“Why haven't you been sleeping?” The question surprised even him with how quickly he blurted it out, but he had to know. If he had caused her to get shot because she was up all night worrying about him, he could never forgive himself. 

“I don't know,” she shrugged, “I haven't been sleeping well since I woke up on that slab in Miranda’s lab.” 

Miranda? The dark haired woman’s face came to mind. Was that who had rebuilt Shepard? 

“How long ago was that?” he asked, trying to shrug off the memory of when he woke up after he thought he had been killed, too. 

“A few weeks ago. Maybe 2 and a half now?” Shepard shrugged again, falling back into the chair at his side. She didn't let go of his hand, but he felt her grip loosen. 

Garrus didn't say anything. That would explain why he hadn't heard anything about her. She was still… out when he had been taken, and he had been locked in that cell for weeks before she even opened her eyes again.

“I'm so sorry, Garrus,” she said suddenly, dropping his hand to cover her eyes, but not before he saw a few tears glistening on her cheek. 

“For what?” He hadn't the faintest idea why she was apologizing, but if Shepard was crying, something was really fucked up. 

“For not being able to come sooner,” she replied after a moment, pulling her head up from her hands finally. 

This time, it was Garrus’ hand that sought hers. She allowed him to grasp her small digits between his talons, looking at him with trusting eyes. He tried not to think about the last time someone had looked at him like that, and how much he had failed them. 

“It was my own fault, Shepard. I was stupid, so naive to think I could make a difference. And I paid the price for it. So did my team. I let them down. Trust me, I deserved everything that happened.” Shepard shook her head as he spoke, but didn't interrupt him. 

“I saw the vids, Garrus. Aria sent them to me. Your team didn't die quickly, but I saw their faces. They were brave, up to the last second. That confidence was inspired by you.” Garrus’ head reeled. He supposed that there had been videos, somewhere, but had never thought that someone would actually send them to Shepard, or that she would watch them. His gut twisted with shame. What else had she seen? 

“Did you see the way they shot them in the stomach, the way they laughed when they finally collapsed, drowning in their own blood? Do you know whose gun they shot them with?” Garrus shuddered, guilt lacing his voice with pain. Shepard said nothing as he unloaded the never ending scene in his head onto her. 

“And that's just what they showed Omega. But they had had us for hours before that. Compared to what they went through, what they did to me was a massage. They cut off limbs, fingers, fringes… Other parts, too. Then cauterized the wounds so they wouldn't bleed out, cause then they would die too quickly. They made me watch, but they didn't touch me. My team was tortured, and I didn't even get slapped. They treated the burns I got from the rocket, and then left me alone. I can't even close my eyes without hearing their screams, Shepard. But they were so brave, so brave. They didn't even plead. Up until the end, they were so sure they would be dying for something, that their fight would have stood for something. But Omega went right back into control of the merc groups. We didn't even make a dent. They died for nothing, all because I was stupid enough to think I could make a difference.” 

 

“Garrus, you had the merc gangs of  _ Omega _ so scared that they actually worked together because they knew they couldn't defeat you alone. No one has ever been able to do that, not even Aria.” Garrus raised his gaze to meet Shepard’s, driven by the insistence in her tone. Sure enough, her eyebrows were knitted together in the look she gave people who thought they knew better than her. 

 

“Shepard, thank you. But in the end, everything was the same, wasn't it?” 

 

“No. Because all of Omega remembers someone was brave enough to stand up for them, that someone thought they were worth protecting. They may have beaten you, Garrus, but they won't forget what you did. That alone gives the people hope,” Shepard countered, giving Garrus’ hand a squeeze. 


End file.
